Probably a decent product: The Smart Baby Sock.

After my son made his way out of his coma and ICU and out of the hospital…eventually…we were absolutely fearful to bring him home.

After all, we had gotten so used to a monitors and alarms and, well, basically being intubated to keep him breathing.

When you have a child that is high risk of dying and breathing and everything in between, and then you get to bring him home to live—you fear life as much as death.

And you don’t know how to watch your child and keep them alive.

You don’t know how to make them breathe.  You don’t know how to parent your child.  And you lose an awful lot of sleep.

You don’t sleep because you fear your child won’t make it through the night.  And then your child does—but that also means your opportunity for sleep is gone because now a new day has dawned.

My husband and I love God but lived in the reality that God gave us our baby and we were to use wisdom and discernment in watching this precious gift in our lives.

So, how did we manage to sleep in peace while making sure we were doing our best to monitor our baby through the night?

We bought a sleep apnea pad.

Yes.  It cost a fortune.  An absolute fortune.  And it was worth every penny.  The constant beeping (the sound we chose) allowed me to actually close my eyes and sleep at night, knowing that the beep was a good thing.  The alarm was a bad thing.

Well, unless you forgot to turn off the machine when you lifted your child out of bed.  Then the alarm was just an alarm.  Many chuckles came about from forgetfulness.

Whether this product is worth its weight in gold or not—I no longer have to live through to determine that.  My 3 are safely alive and breathing and past the devastating “stage” or risk of SIDS.  But if they weren’t, and I was raising Max all over again as an infant, I would most likely be the mom to invest in one of these.

Simply for a peaceful night of sleep.  Even as little as I might get.  Every minute is, well, just that.  At least a minute.

Here’s the link in case you want to check it out for yourself:

The smart baby sock

Because He Lives…

Because He Lives…
I can face tomorrow.

Because He Lives…
All fear is gone.

Because I know…oh…oh…
He holds my future!

Life is worth the living JUST because He lives!

Can I be honest???

As I sit typing this, I am not sure those are the exact lyrics. They are, however, the lyrics resounding loudly in my head.

And I love them.

I look at each of them…
Because Jesus lives, I can face tomorrow.

I remember when we miscarried our baby, I could not face the light of day. I could not face the exit of our house into a different part of the real world. I could not face the presence of people that did not lose babies…

I could not face anything.

I wanted to remain curled in my dark dungeon of death and hide.

But He was there.

Loving me. Holding me. Comforting me.

And, eventually, I began to live again.

Because He Lives, all fear is gone.

I remember when God asked me for Maxwell’s life.  My only son’s life.  He asked me to give Maxwell to him.

I remember shouting, “No, God!  I will not give you Maxwell.  I gave you my other baby and you TOOK that baby from me!  Therefore, you CANNOT have Maxwell.”

I remember the fear of losing my son.  My only son.  To death.

I remember the fear of trying to imagine life without my son.  My only son.  To death.

I remember the fear of not knowing if Maxwell would live or die.

I remember that fear as if it, that fear, is sitting next to me at this moment while I type this.

But the VERY moment that I relinquished my son completely into the hands of God, I remember that fear leaving me.

Instantaneously.

Gone.

Did I know if my son would live?

No.

Did I know if my son would die?

No.

I knew absolutely only one thing—God had Maxwell in his hands.

And with that, my fear was gone.

Because I know he holds my future…

When I was on the brink of a mental breakdown.  My marriage was in shambles.  My life was far different than I ever dreamed.  When I was on that brink — when I did not see my future as a family whole, I realized, probably for the first time in all of my life, that God is enough.

At first I thought God was enough—plus my family—plus my friends—plus my job—plus my husband—plus my children (I progressed as I got older and more married, you know—things like that).  God PLUS everything and everyone else were enough.

But when I was left with nothing but the very shell of who I was — THAT is only when I realized that it wasn’t God PLUS the rest.

It was only God.

Life is worth the living  just because He lives!

Take it from a woman that knows.  Life is worth the living just because he lives!

I pray that you come to this beautiful peace in your life, too.

Happy Easter, my friends!

***

After writing this, I went on Google, and look what I found!  Enjoy.

Also, in the above photo, Maxwell is in a full coma and simultaneously receiving a life-saving blood transfusion. So, if you donate blood, THANK YOU!  Also fitting for Easter, the fact that someone gave so that my son could live.

There is no comparison…

When my son stopped breathing and had to be rescued, and yet, once again, was left without any help…I sat next to him.  I had already spent all evening, from 9pm until 5am, shaking him every 10 seconds so that he would be reminded to breathe.  And, yes, I was in the hospital.

But then it happened.  He stopped.  Completely.  He had no more breath left in him.

And I had to run into the halls screaming, while his alarms were going off, because no one was coming.  I had to run into the halls and yell, “My son!  My son!  He is not breathing.”

Finally two nurses came and got him breathing again.  They did not call a doctor.  They never did.  They got him breathing and then left me alone, again, with my son.

And I saw his light begin to disappear.  He had already been fighting for three days.  And for three days, very minimal was done to keep him alive.  When we told the doctor the night before he wasn’t breathing, she looked at him, shook him, and said, “Oh, it’s sleep apnea.  It’s common in infants.”

And she left again.  For the entire night.  From 9pm until the moment I ran into the hall screaming, not a single medical professional came to check on my premature, listless, graying baby, who also hadn’t eaten in 3 days.

No one.

And so I knew.  I knew as I sat next to him that he had very little time left here on earth.  I called my husband to see if we could Air Vac him out of Poland, but they said that the medical doctors would have to declare that they were unable to care for him.  If you have ever met a Pole, there is no way one will declare that they are unable to do anything.  At all.  They are a country of great pride.  In many, many, many areas, they should be.  But not in the care of my son.

Then we debated going to the US Embassy in Warsaw and demanding help.  But that would take 3 hours one way.  And he didn’t have 3 hours left.

We were tired, dejected, and left without anyone fighting on our side.

I sat.  I sat next to my son and I watched as he began to slip away.  And I could only cry.  And cry.  And cry.

My mom and dad had gotten to meet him.  But the rest of our families had not.  And I knew now that they would not.

My heart was broken.  My sister called this baby, Maxwell, her baby-and she had never met him.  But she prayed for him from the moment of our announcement, she ran a Triathlon for him, she wept for him.  She was his biggest champion.  She loved him.  And yet she never had the chance to meet him.

And I knew that day.  I just knew she never would.

So not only did my heart break for my son that was lying next to me with mere moments left to fight for his life.  But my heart broke for the fact that my family would not get to meet our son.  Our beautiful and miraculous baby that we had to fight to even bring into the world.

And I did the only thing I had left in me to do.  I sat there touching my baby and weeping.

Then she entered.  A miracle.  An angel.  The new doctor on shift.  The nurses, they tried to explain away my baby, but she wouldn’t let them.  She didn’t even listen to them.  She took one look at Maxwell dying and said, “There is nothing I can do!”

An ambulance was called, and my son was escorted down 4 flights of stairs, into the waiting ambulance and brought to the nearest ICU.  I was kicked out and he was intubated.  He was put on 100% ventilation.  His body was put into a full coma.  And he was put on antibiotics to now fight the pneumonia that was also ravaging his body as well as congestive heart failure medicine, because the hole in his heart had doubled in size—the lack of oxygen caused his heart to work overtime, resulting in a heart that was also now at risk of failing.

He was given a blood transfusion.  And we were given the news.

It was bad.  There was no news if he would make it.  It was now a waiting game.  A waiting game for life.  A waiting game for death.

And my sister.  She again took charge.  An ocean away, and yet she was able to somehow help lead me through this time in my life.  We were only allowed to see our son from 11am-7pm.  Otherwise, we had to wait.  Every evening, we were allowed to call at 10pm and ask if there was a status change.  And every morning at 8am we were allowed to call and ask if he made it through the LONG hours of the night.  If he was still alive.

And my sister, God bless her soul, she would wait for our evening and morning calls, her phone bill, I am sure, ran into the 4 digits of expense, and we would give her the status update.  He was alive.  He was getting a blood transfusion.  His ventilator quit on him and they had to bag him for about 6-10 minutes.  He squeezed his daddy’s finger today, and so forth.

Every morning and every night she called so that she could share with the rest of the world if our baby was alive.  If there was progress.  If he was going to make it.  And, as she shared, the rest of the world prayed.

After all, she considered our baby her baby.

My sister…There is no comparison.

She is the woman I wish I was.  The woman that I would like to be.

Compassion never fails her.  Money never stops her.  And love never leaves her.  Even if an ocean separates her.

Today is her birthday, and I couldn’t wish a more deserving person 100 years, Sto Lat!  I couldn’t wish a more giving person a life of health, happiness, and love.  And I couldn’t ask God for a greater friend and supporter.

And so I’ll leave you with this…our son did fight with all that was within him. And he did conquer every demon that wanted to keep him from us here on earth.  And he did survive.

And because of it, he finally got to meet my sister.  His auntie.  And my best friend…

Happy birthday, Darby.